


A Spot of Tea

by Pink_Dalek



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 'Fugue.' While Morse naps on the sofa in the lounge, Fred and Win chat over tea in the dining room. There's some discussion of Morse that makes Win immediately want to take him under her wing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spot of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> More domestic fluff with the Thursdays.

Fred eased the door to the lounge shut and returned to the kitchen. "The lad's nodded off."

"It's probably the best thing for him." Win poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot and started it steeping while she filled an old painted tray with tea things.

"Are there any of those lemon shortbread biscuits left?" Fred asked hopefully.

Win laughed fondly. "In the cupboard, love." Fred fetched the biscuit tin and added it to the tray before picking it up and following her into the dining room. He turned the radio on low while she unloaded the tray and sat down in Joan's usual chair next to Fred. 

"Was he badly hurt?"

"Not bad enough to go to hospital. I think lack of sleep's the bigger problem."

"We'll just let him sleep as long as he can, then. Are you home for the rest of the day?"

"Looks that way, pet. Hope we're not underfoot," Fred gave her an apologetic look.

"Not at all. I finished the last load of washing, so I'm free until it's time to start tea. He'll stay for tea?"

"I'll make sure he does. Lad needs a bit of feeding up."

"He does. Does he have family nearby to look after him?"

"No. I'm not sure where his family lives. He's mentioned a sister, and that his mum died when he was a boy." He saw Win's eyes tighten slightly at that, and knew Morse was going to end up under her wing. He thought that a good idea. The lad needed a spot of mothering. Besides, if he was honest with himself, he'd tucked Morse under his own wing sometime during the search for Mary Tremlett's killer. 

The front door opened and closed. Sam poked his head in the dining room doorway, slipping out of his coat. He looked straight at his father. "You're home already? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I brought Morse back with me. He was injured on the case."

"He's asleep in the lounge," Win told Sam, squeezing his hand affectionately. "You'll keep quiet?"

"Of course. He'll be okay?"

Win nodded. "We're just letting him rest, and Fred's going to make sure he stays to tea."

Sam grinned knowingly. "You're going to mum him whether he wants it or not. I'll be in my room." He took a couple of biscuits and tiptoed upstairs.

Joan got home from the bank not long after. "I thought that was a car from the station outside. You must be okay, though," she told Fred. "You're sitting there having a cuppa and eating all the lemon shortbread biscuits."

"I am not," he told her in a mock hurt tone. "I saved a few for you."

They told her about Morse. Her face softened. "You're sure he's okay?"

"Max DeBryn patched him up and said he'd be fine."

"Dad, he works on dead people."

"He knows what he's doing. Morse will be fine."

Win started to rise. "I'd better start tea."

"Sit, Mum. I'll do it."

"There are chicken thighs in the fridge."

"I'll start them in broth and chop the vegetables." A moment later they could hear Joan working quietly in the kitchen. Not long after, the aroma of simmering homemade chicken soup floated through the house.

"If that doesn't wake Morse, I'll check his pulse," Fred joked. Win gathered up the tea things and went to the kitchen. Fred lit his pipe and opened the day's paper. Outside he could hear the sounds of people getting home for the evening on their quiet street. A little while later, he went to check on Morse.

The boy was still sleeping peacefully on the sofa. Fred straightened his coat to tuck it a little closer. Asleep, Morse didn't look much older than Sam. At the end of the Tremlett case, Fred had promised to see him right. He'd meant as a detective, but over the ensuing months, it had come to mean more. Morse was frankly terrible at looking after himself. But Win was wonderful at looking after them all, and Fred wasn't too shabby at it, either. He gave the coat a last little adjustment.

"We'll see you right, Morse," he murmured. "We'll see you right."


End file.
